


thankful for more (than we knew we could get)

by itsclppingbitch



Series: i'm floating (on your rivers and lakes) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale/Gabriel is implied, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsclppingbitch/pseuds/itsclppingbitch
Summary: The demon closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. It was nothing. They were drunk and enjoying a bit of contact. Aziraphale had always been tactile. He was kidding himself into thinking it was anything more than that.Still, a treacherous voice inside of his brain told him. Impossible things happen everyday. Maybe this time, it’s your turn. He silenced that voice viciously, forcing the very idea from his brain.Aziraphale turned into him and pressed his nose into the hollow of his throat.





	thankful for more (than we knew we could get)

“All m’sayin’,” Crowley slurred, pointing at Aziraphale and wobbling dangerously from his perch on top of the couch, “s’that we should take ‘vantage of our exiles."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him, doing his best to hold Crowley’s gaze. “Are we not?” he asked, gesturing to the case of wine sitting between them and sloshing wine onto the rug in the process. He frowned down at the spill, waving a hand to make it disappear and only succeeding in evaporating the liquid out of the carpet. He huffed at the lingering stain. 

Crowley nodded and then paused, before shaking his head. “I mean… we don’t have to sneak about to see each other,” he said carefully, focusing on the stain and not on the angel. His mouth twisted into a grimace as he stared at the stain and it vanished a moment later. 

“Oh… thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale hummed gratefully, smiling at Crowley warmly. Too warmly. Crowley was sure he’d melt if left exposed to that smile for too long. He looked away and took a long drink from his glass instead. 

When he looked back down, Aziraphale had moved to sit on the sofa, his shoes now off and legs tucked under himself. He looked up at Crowley and gave him another smile that made his heart ache miserably in his chest. His jacket was gone, his shirt was rumpled and untucked from his trousers, his bowtie undone. Crowley flushed and looked away to the nearest bookshelf, feeling a bit like he’d seen the angel nude. He realized, belatedly, that Aziraphale had said something else while he’d been preoccupied with his state of undress. He forced himself to look back down at him and blinked. “Hmm?”

“I said it would be nice to have you around more,” he replied. He didn’t sound as drunk as Crowley. He didn’t look as drunk as Crowley. Despite his less than immaculate appearance, he looked fairly sober. So Crowley didn’t quite understand what was happening when he felt Aziraphale’s hand slide into his own and tug him down off the back of the couch to sit properly. He went willingly, easily, letting the angel maneuver him how he pleased. His breath caught in his throat when he felt Aziraphale’s head on his shoulder a moment later. 

Crowley’s arm went up on it’s own accord and slid around his shoulders. He pulled the angel into his side and Aziraphale sighed so contentedly that Crowley almost felt like he was going to be sick. Aziraphale’s hand came up to tangle in the collar of his shirt, fingers resting against his throat. Crowley wondered if he could feel his pulse hammering under his skin. The demon closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. It was nothing. They were drunk and enjoying a bit of contact. Aziraphale had always been tactile. He was kidding himself into thinking it was anything more than that. 

_ Still, _ a treacherous voice inside of his brain told him.  _ Impossible things happen everyday. Maybe this time, it’s your turn. _ He silenced that voice viciously, forcing the very idea from his brain. 

Aziraphale turned into him and pressed his nose into the hollow of his throat. 

“Crowley?” he whispered, and Crowley tipped his head so he could look down at him. 

“Angel?”

“The bed may be more comfortable,” he murmured, though he made no move to get up. 

“You reckon?” Crowley asked, resting his head on top of Aziraphale’s, resisting the urge to press his lips (his nose, his face, his soul) into the soft curls. 

“Mhm,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley snorted as he tightened his grip on him and pulled them both to their feet. Aziraphale’s arms went around his shoulders and he groaned into Crowley’s shoulder. 

“You could sober up,” Crowley reminded him. Aziraphale grunted and waved a hand.

He moved slowly, Aziraphale held tight against him. Though he wasn’t as drunk as he wanted to be anymore, he knew he wasn’t sober enough to keep them both upright if one of them tripped. He led Aziraphale carefully to the bedroom, and they were nearly to the bed when Aziraphale stopped and turned abruptly, causing Crowley to lose his balance and crash into him. 

He’d never be sure if it was an accident or if Aziraphale used the accident as an opportunity, and the bastard would only smirk and shrug whenever he’d ask in the years to come, but as he smacked into Aziraphale, he felt lips press against his own. He tensed, and so did Aziraphale, but he didn’t pull away. Crowley waited another moment to see if he would, and then he was melting into him; Aziraphale pulling him closer as he kissed him slowly, lovingly, the way Crowley dreamed Aziraphale would kiss him. 

Crowley kissed him back for a few long moments before forcing himself to pull away. Aziraphale leaned into him, trying to follow after his lips with a soft whine. “You’re drunk,” Crowley reminded him. 

Aziraphale gave a little nod. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to do this for a few decades now,” he replied and Crowley barely stopped himself from snorting. He let out something that sounded like a wheeze instead and Aziraphale huffed. 

“What?” he asked, frowning at Crowley. 

“Nothing, Angel! Nothing. You just could have fooled me, is all.” 

Aziraphale softened at that, lifting his hands to hold Crowley’s face. “I know,” he murmured. “I know I was unfair to you. I understand if you don’t want to-” 

“Oh, shut up, Angel,” Crowley murmured, and he leaned in to kiss Aziraphale this time. The angel hummed contently and pushed him back against the dresser as he deepened the kiss. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, kissing in the dark up against the dresser in the bedroom.  _ Weeks _ , he hoped. Even if it had been weeks, it still wasn’t long enough when Aziraphale pulled away and took a step back. He smiled and walked backwards to the bed, Crowley following helplessly after him. 

“Come here, dear,” Aziraphale murmured. 

Crowley got onto the bed with him and reached for the angel. 

Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him and he pulled him into his chest. A hand came up to stroke through Crowley’s hair gently. 

Crowley sighed and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s chest. His eyes slid shut and he started to drift off under the soft touches. He was just on the brink of sleep when he felt the hand leave his hair and the bed shift next to him. He whined quietly and cracked an eye open. He caught a glimpse of them in the mirror by the closet, Crowley gasped and sat up abruptly, whirling to face Aziraphale. His wings snapped out and he summoned fire into his palms, but he before he had the chance to lift a hand, there was a flaming sword through his chest.

His gaze went up to meet Aziraphale’s and he stared dumbly as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and from the wound in his chest. Above him stood Aziraphale, wings out, his hair glowing and golden, eyes white with Divine Light. 

“An-gel?” he forced out, hot blood bubbling against his lips. 

“Silence, foul one,” he hissed back. 

Crowley reached up, trying to grab onto Aziraphale and managing to grab his bowtie. It pulled loose from collar as Aziraphale stepped back, pulling the sword from Crowley with a wet, sliding sound. He gurgled and fell forward on the bed, red slowly leaking into the sheets under him. 

“Why?” he asked, and Aziraphale attempted to wipe his blade off on the floor. 

“Did you really believe I could fall in love with a demon?” he asked, laughing. 

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but there was a flash of light and Gabriel appeared in the room beside Aziraphale. He beamed as he saw the body prostrated on the bed before him. 

“You smited this demon?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded, a proud smile on his mouth. 

Gabriel’s smile widened and he put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “She’ll be very pleased with you. You’ve destroyed the demon that caused Her Plan to fail.” 

“I live to serve Her,” Aziraphale replied, looking at the blood on his sword with obvious distaste. 

“What’s that in his hand?” Gabriel asked, pointing to a piece of cloth folded in his palm. 

Aziraphale laughed and looked up at Gabriel. “The poor thing managed to get a hold of my bowtie. He’d deluded himself into believing we could be together, you know” he said, and Gabriel laughed with him. 

“How pathetic,” Gabriel scoffed, pulling Aziraphale into his side. “Come. Leave his vessel here, it’ll disintegrate soon enough. She’ll need to hear of your victory.”

Aziraphale nodded and leaned into Gabriel as there was another flash, not bothering to spare the demon a final glance before they both disappeared, leaving Crowley on the bed to bleed out. He felt cold, numb, and his vision was beginning to fade. There was nothing after this for him. He’d be gone, for good. He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him. 

***

Crowley sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping for breath as he tried to slow his pounding heart. He looked down at himself, feeling for the wound on his chest. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. Just a dream. Only a dream. 

He felt stirring beside him and Aziraphale sat up, wrapping his arms around Crowley and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. “Nightmare?” he asked. 

Crowley tensed for a moment and Aziraphale stiffened beside him. “Oh… Is this not alright? I know we were a bit tipsy last night, but I thought…” he said, starting to let go of Crowley. The demon shook his head and grabbed Aziraphale, letting out a breathless little laugh. “I thought… I thought it was all a dream,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, that warm smile that made Crowley feel like his insides had turned to liquid. “Of course not, love. Of course it wasn’t a dream. I’m here. I’m yours. I want to be with you for as long as you’d like to have me,” he told him, and Crowley smiled widely. 

“Good,” he whispered. Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair lovingly and stared at him for a long moment, drinking him in. “My  _ dear _ boy,” he whispered, before he leaned in and kissed Crowley until he’d chased the last traces of tension from his body. 

“I told you,” Aziraphle murmured to him when he finally pulled back. “I’ve wanted this for some time now.” 

Crowley snorted. “A few decades.”

“And you’ve wanted this longer?” Aziraphale demanded, looking at him sternly. 

Crowley nearly started howling. “You could say that,” he managed, doing his best to hold in his laughter. 

“Oh, come now. How long?” he asked, rubbing his thumb against Crowley’s cheek. 

He turned his head and kissed the pad of his thumb sweetly before he answered. “Why don’t we go get some lunch?” he asked. 

Aziraphale was out of the bed a moment later. He snapped and his clothes reappeared on him, looking immaculate. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and dragged himself from the bed. He forced himself to stand and trudged to the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind him. 

It opened again a few seconds later and the demon emerged looking refreshed, not a hair out of place. “Ready?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded and they headed out to the Bentley, hand in hand. 

The drive to The Ritz was relatively quiet, save for the occasional shout from Aziraphale as Crowley weaved in and out of traffic. It wasn’t until they’d been seated at their usual table that Aziraphale spoke again. 

“You were saying something back at the flat?” he prodded. 

“Is that so?” he asked, grinning as Aziraphale scowled at him. 

“Don’t be purposely obtuse, Crowley. How long did you wait?” he asked. 

Crowley scrunched up his nose and looked up, making a big show of counting on his fingers and coming up with a number. 

“Oh, since you lost your sword,” he replied casually, like it wasn’t the admission of the century. 

Aziraphale went still, champagne flute halfway to his mouth. He blinked. 

“Beg your pardon?” he asked. 

Crowley shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “Since you lost your sword,” he repeated, and Aziraphale turned so he could look at him properly. “Are you telling me…. that you’ve been in love with me for…. six thousand years now?” he asked slowly.

Crowley simply nodded in reply. He was nearly knocked out of his chair by Aziraphale as he threw himself across the short distance between them to hug Crowley tightly.

“Angel!” he wheezed, wrapping his arms around him in turn so he couldn’t pull away. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”

Crowley waved him off. “You were worth the wait, Angel. I would’ve waited another six thousand for you.” 

Aziraphale tried not to beam at the sentiment, doing a rather poor job of it. “Well, now you don’t have to.” He kissed Crowley on the corner of the mouth and pulled back, sitting back in his chair. 

Crowley smiled and lifted his own champagne flute, holding it out to Aziraphale. “To six thousand years of pining,” he smirked.

Aziraphale tapped his glass against Crowley’s. “And to six thousand more in each other’s arms.”

They drank to that.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this fic is loosely based on part three of the D R O N E S / RICKOLUS EP
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=s0Z7LrlRdac&list=OLAK5uy_k6d-SugCoZznEXPU5tet0NiLw2K18yMog&index=8


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